


Destiny's tracks

by obviouslyelementary



Category: Markiplier Egos, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Dark Magic, Death, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gen, M/M, Manipulation, Metafiction, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Mystery, Who Killed Markiplier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 04:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13333290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obviouslyelementary/pseuds/obviouslyelementary
Summary: Wilford had never questioned the blankness of his mind... until one day, he did.And Dark was to blame.





	Destiny's tracks

For a while, Will was unsure.

Unsure if everything that happened in his head actually happened in the real world.

He had images, sometimes, of something that should have happened long ago. He wondered if those were real, or simply made up memories of a blank mind.

Sometimes, he found a cane and a black veil to have way too much meaning, despite just being… objects.

Sometimes, red and blue seemed too much, and he needed to look away, to his natural pink self.

He wondered many things. And for a while, he was unsure if he was a real human or something fabricated by destiny’s cruel mind.

But that was only for a while.

When he became what he had always been (Wilford Warfstache, if you must know), he was sure that was not what he was.

But that was what Dark named him. When he came back to his senses. From what, he didn’t know. His mind was blank. But he knew that before that, there had been a lot of confusion. Of pain and of death.

When he woke up, he was alone, with a man in front of him, that seemed too familiar and nothing at all at the same time.

He presented himself as Dark.

He said he was an ally.

And he told him his name was Wilford.

Seemed plausible, since he couldn’t remember even when his own birthday was.

Years passed and the dreams continued. Dreams of a soft voice, dreams of delicate hands and affairs in the backyard of a best friend’s house. Dreams of stolen cash, of street fights with strangers and dreams of peace and recollection.

Dreams when a man named Mark laughed with him, sharing beers and talking about the future. And dreams with that same man, pointing a gun at him, firing the trigger, and nothing coming out.

He had dreams with an angel too. With black hair and a sweet smile. Well versed in the dark arts. An angel that, at first, would be surrounded by Mark. And then, was surrounded by him, Wilford, or maybe… maybe someone else. But him. He knew she was with him. The angel Celine.

And last, he had dreams, of a man with a sweet smile, firm posture and caring words. He had dreams of a man that stole glances at him, who made everything to protect, that hurt himself and others for him, for Celine, and for Mark. A man named Damien…

Whoever he was.

But years passed, and with years, so did the dreams. They became less and less apparent, and Wilford finally felt like they meant nothing. They were nothing. Just something his mind made up to cover the void that remained from before he met Dark. From before he had a name.

Wilford didn’t mind being no one. Because now he was someone. And someone _famous_.

He interviewed people! Monsters! Phone guys! And even a man, by the name of Markiplier, who seemed weirdly suspicious of crimes. But WIlford wouldn’t judge! He had killed too many people before, he knew that what had to be done had to be done.

But then… on that day… when he firstly met this… Markiplier… something changed.

“You _interviewed_ him?!” Dark yelled, their surroundings shaking, trembling, a blue and red aura flickering around the being. WIlford raised his eyebrow, rubbing his moustache between his fingers.

“I invited him to the show and he came. What else should I do? Besides, I stabbed him a bit and he stopped talking so…” he shrugged, but quicker than a blink of an eye Dark was pressing him against the wall, holding him up by his collar, their noses pressing together as he narrowed his eyes, both flaming red and blue.

“You should have _finished him!_ ” he screamed, right to Wilford’s face, and he moved his head to the side, frowning.

“Why? He just wasn’t being cooperative, I don’t understand w-”

“ ** _He destroyed us!_** ” Dark yelled, hitting Wilford back against the wall, making him hiss in pain. “ ** _He killed us and tortured us and used us and hurt us for nothing!_** ” he kept yelling, hitting Wilford against the wall again and again, in a rage attack. He groaned every time, but did not respond in kind, waiting.

And then, Dark let him go.

“Dark, listen…” he said, slowly, hissing at the pain on his back. Dark was looking down, growling to himself, hands curled up in fists as he tried to calm down. “I don’t understand what all the rage is for but if you hit me against the wall ever again, I will shot you”

Dark’s head snapped up, red and blue auras flaring up again, but against his throat was pressed the end of Wilford’s gun.

They stared at each other, with Wilford’s eyebrow raised.

“You wouldn’t” Dark whispered, and he armed the gun.

“Try me, Dark”

And growling, Dark flickered and left.

Wilford stared at where Dark had stood for a while. He leaned against the wall, ignoring the pain he felt, because it wasn’t that strong. He put the gun in his pocket again, and then looked up at the ceiling, thinking.

There was something going on, and he had to figure out what it was.

And there was only one person that could help him.

 

“Author?”

Silence. No response. Wilford frowned.

“Author? Where are you?”

Silence again. No response.

“Author?”

He opened the door to the shack.

Inside, nothing more than a decaying corpse on the ground.

Wilford frowned. He was unaware that anyone had been killed in there.

Upon closer inspection, he realized that the corpse belonged exactly to the man he had come to end his doubts.

Wonderful.

He rolled his eyes and groaned, frustrated, sitting on the author’s chair and staring at the table.

There were thousands of written pages over the desk. More on the ground. Some dirty and some old, some ripped apart and some squeezed into paper balls. There was even a few paper planes here and there.

He would never find what he wanted in that mess. And with the author dead, there was no one else that could help.

“The Host approaches the stranger from behind, wondering what he wants”

Wilford jumped up in surprise, eyes wide as he turned, holding his gun directly towards the second man’s face.

The man remained calm.

“Who… what?” he asked, confused.

“The Host continues to stare at the stranger, wondering why he is here and why he has a gun pointed towards the Host” he said, and Wilford slowly lowers the gun, even more puzzled.

“You… the host?” he asked, and narrowed his eyes. “And you have a bloody cloth over your eyes, how can you know I have a gun pointed to you?”

The man in front of him smiles slowly. It is almost creepy.

“The Host is amused by the stranger’s confusion. The Host can see everything that the Author wishes him to see” he answered, and Wilford looks down at the rooting corpse on the ground.

“You… are aware that the Author is dead, right?” he asked, a bit more freaked out than he should be. Out of all the rest of the egos he knows of, this one seems to be the most… peculiar.

“The Host’s creator is dead and the Host is aware. He… feels sorry for not being able to save the Author. However, the Host could not exist while the Author did. They are one and the same, forever apart”

Wilford blinked a few times, in utter confusion, before he shook his head and hands.

“Whatever. I don’t care. Can you help me find something?” he asked, and the Host seemed to focus more on WIlford.

“The Host is here to help. What does the stranger needs?”

“First, call me Wilford. Or Warfstache. Your call” he said, and looked around at the paper mess. “Second, can you help me find anything related to Darkiplier?”

“The Host will help Warfstache find stories about Darkiplier” he answered, and turned to his left, walking towards a pile of books over a desk.

Wilford walked over at him, looking over the Host’s shoulder, only to see a huge, thick book with carvings that read: **_W. K. M._**

WKM? Weird.

“Can you… tell me what those carvings mean? W K M?” he asked, curiously, and the Host nodded.

“Who Killed Markiplier. The Author’s favorite story. Unfinished, however” he explained, and Wilford hummed.

Markiplier? Really shouldn’t be finished, considering that the guy was walking around, pretty much alive.

“Well?” Wilford urged on. Perhaps in that book, Wilford could understand why Dark hated Markiplier so much.

“Wait” the Host said, opening the last pages of the unfinished book. He took a pen from the desk, and begun circling the paper. Weirdly enough, the page was completely white. Upon forming the circle and closing it, the words begun to appear. He circled three complete pages and the last one of the book, and Wilford watched as the words made themselves apparent in the pages. “This is all the information the Author left on Darkiplier before he died. Everything else isn’t written, not in words”

“… You talk in way too many riddles, Host” Wilford complained, before taking the pages from the book, glad they weren’t tied up together or anything. He held the pages and then folded them, pushing them inside his pocket, together with his gun. “Anyway, it was a pleasure. If I need anything else, I will return”

He made his way to the door, excited to read whatever there was about Dark.

And then, the Host spoke up.

“The Host… wonders…” he started, and Wilford stopped. “Are you the Wilford that… lives with the egos in a house?”

“Um… yeah. Pretty much” he said, and turned around. The Host was standing still, but his hands rubbed together against his back. “Why?”

“Nothing… the Host simply… wonders” he said, slowly, and Wilford frowned. The Host then moved his head towards the Author’s corpse, and there was something clearly wrong there, but Wilford had no time to think about it.

“Yeah okay bye” he said, grinning and waving before leaving the Host alone in that bloody, muddy and dirty shack.

 

He arrived home and went right to his bedroom. He didn’t eat lunch, or appear in the coffee break, but worst of all, he missed the meeting.

And weirdly enough, he shouldn’t have, because he was reading only three and a half pages. It shouldn’t take longer than half an hour to read it all. And yet… he found himself reading and reading and reading them again and again and again.

It was almost as if his dreams… his long forgotten dreams, were back to life.

_Celine and Damien disappear into the room. Lightning strikes. The confused character wonders around the house, guided by the spirit resident in it. Everything becomes foggy and the house shows them what before could not be seen:_

**_The detective’s room._ **

_Filled with papers, with pictures and newspapers cutouts, the room is messy, and quiet, filled with questions that lead nowhere. ‘Don’t trust the seer’ is written in a page, on the type writer. ‘Safari hunt gone wrong’ says the article, showcasing no one else than the Colonel himself on the picture on the left. Damien’s name scribbled away in a furious attempt to hide whatever was written after it. Any clue on his name, gone._

_Then, from nowhere, as the house demands, he comes. The colonel._

_“Ah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you… what is this. The detective… has been keeping tabs on us. He has been keeping tabs on me… on Celine…”_

_Enraged by madness, the Colonel leaves the room in search of the detective. The plot thickens. The main character, shaken, rushes after the colonel in an attempt to stop him._

_“He took them from me! He took my friends from me!” the colonel cries, and the main character is unsure if he is sane. He looks for the detective, mumbling and groaning, pushing the main character away, making his way to the other side of the house._

_Over the stairs, detective and colonel meet._

_“This is madness!” the colonel cries. The main character is in shock. Both men hold guns towards each other._

_“Madness is stealing your friends wife!” the detective makes his point. Every word he says, the main character gets more and more confused. More and more scared. Caught in the middle of a gun fight, with nothing but good sense to defend them. “Madness is killing said best friend because you can’t handle the tru-”_

_Bang._

_The scene cuts._

_The main character rushes towards the colonel, to stop him, but the gun has already been fired._

_It fires again._

_Bang._

_The main character falls._

_It is the end._

_And in the back of their mind, they know._

_‘It was an accident!_

_I swear!’_

_The room blacks out._

_They open their eyes, and Mark’s dead body is staring at them._

_“It isn’t fair, is it?” it asks. But Mark is dead. This is impossible._

_“He stole everything from us!” comes Damien. Celine, right next to him. They are involved by a blue and a red aura respectively._

_They speak. They convince the main character to join them. They think the couple means good, unaware that with them, sticks the dark, evil spirit of the house._

_The main character nods. Celine says it is their choice, but it isn’t. They are fooled, and they get right into the trap._

_They wake up, and it all seems fine. They stand, and the colonel awaits, Damien’s cane on his hands. He spent the whole night watching the main character, dead._

_His mind is crumbling into small pieces._

_“I couldn’t have killed you!” he says, and he smiles. He is crazy. He is now a lost man, and nothing you say can or will help. “Did Damien put you up to this? Of course he did! Come out, Damien, you little rapscallion!”_

_The colonel leaves the cane over the table under the mirror. He leaves, laughing maniacally, but the tears don’t stop streaming down his cheeks._

_He wants his friends back, but they are nowhere to be found._

_The main character reaches for the cane, and upon touching it, a new soul rises. They look up, together, and suddenly, the main character is trapped._

_They know they are trapped._

_And in front of them, stands the creature._

_Dark._

_Dark, who maintains Celine and Damien trapped within their broken body._

_It growls. It wants revenge._

_And the screen goes black._

“ ** _Wilford!_** ”

He looked up from the pages quickly, eyes wide as he stared at the door. Then, he tries to relax. He was too entertained.

“What is it Dark?” he asked, looking back down at the page as Dark barges inside, angrily.

“You missed the meeting” he growled. Wilford couldn’t care less.

“So. You are a shadow being monster trapped in Markiplier’s body together with the mind of whoever Celine and Damien are?” he asked, bluntly, and looked up at Dark.

The man’s eyes are wide, and they are cold. Black. No tint of red or blue in them.

“H-how…” he mumbled, and Wilford showed him the pages.

“I went to the author’s house. This was there. Pages of his novel: Who Killed Markiplier” he said, and threw the pages at Dark. “Who killed Markiplier? Why is he alive? Who are Damien and Celine? Why do you want revenge? And specially, who the hell is that Colonel?”

“I killed the author…” dark mumbled, looking down at the papers, and Wilford frowns.

“You what?!”

“This was why!” he screamed back, growling and ripping the pages. Wilford’s eyes widened. “When I found out he was writing it, I killed him once and for all! You were never supposed to find it!”

“You killed him so I wouldn’t find how you were made?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Dark, you know that if you want us to work together, there is some stuff I want and need to know. Also, if that colonel guy is alive, you should probably tell him that you are his lost friends. He went crazy after whatever happened in that book”

Dark stared at Wilford for a long, long time, blue fighting red inside his eyes, until black won and he leaned forward, grabbing Wil’s collar.

“Who. Gave you. This?”

“A man called the Host” he answered, tilting his head. “Why?”

And like that, he threw Wilford back onto the bed and stormed off.

But Wilford did not stay put.

 

“Dark” he called as he arrived on the shack.

The man was holding the Host against a wall. The Host was still, looking calm.

“Go. Away” Dark growled, but Wilford took out his gun, and pointed it to dark’s head.

“Let him go. I am not losing the only man who can guide me through this mess” he said, and Dark looked over at Wilford.

“The Host is pleased that Wilford has returned” he said, and a smile grew on his face. Wilford smiled back. He was kinda liking this new guy.

“Shut up!” Dark growled and squeezed the Host’s neck with his arm, making him gasp and groan. “You are a useless piece of shit, and I should have killed you before!”

“Let him go dark. I will only say it once more” Wilford repeated, now walking towards them, pressing the gun against Dark’s head.

“I will survive” he growled, but Wil just hummed.

“I am aware. But this will hurt to no end, dear friend”

After a moment of silence, dark pulled away from the host, letting him fall to the ground as he turned around to face Wilford.

“you don’t know what you are doing. How much this will cost you” he said, but Wil just shrugged.

“I don’t know and I don’t care. Leave Dark” he responded, and like that Dark vanished.

“The Host… thanks Wilford…” the Host said, voice weak as he stood. Wilford came right up to help, pushing him up and holding him by his waist.

“Tell me. He tried to kill you?” he asked, not really worried, more curious. The Host nodded.

“The Host is nothing more than a self creation of the Author. Darkiplier was aware that if he killed the author, other would take his place. He saw the Host, when he was created, days before the author was killed, and instead of killing the Host, he destroyed his eyes, so the Host could not see, and therefore, could not write or modify history. All the Host can do now is narrate the events as they present themselves to the Host”

“So… the author predicted the future, saw the present and knew of the past?” he asked, confused, and the Host nodded. “While you just…  narrates what is about to happen or what is happening around you?”

“Yes” came the answer.

“Well, I am one hundred percent sure that if I leave you here, Dark will come back and kill you. But if I show you off to the rest, I am sure he won’t touch you. So you are coming with me” he said, and started to walk towards the door. The Host followed, a bit confused, but smiling.

“Is the Host part of the egos now?”

“Yes. Yes you are”

 

“He is part of the family now, Dark. You can’t kill him” Wilford said, sipping some water as he leaned against the wall. The welcoming party was doing great, with Dark and Wilford on a corner while the rest of the egos surrounded the Host, curious and filled with questions. Dark hummed.

“I can still make him deaf and cut his hands off” he said, and Wilford frowned.

“He will find a way of communicating even so. Nothing can stop him. And if you harm him too much, a new one will appear and you know it” he said, and Dark huffed angrily. “Listen. All I want to know is why you hate Markiplier so much. I just want to understand what I read yesterday. I just want… to know. What I was before the blank. Before you named me. What happened then. That’s all I want to know!”

“Sorry Wil” Dark said, and turned away from him. “But you will have to do this on your own”

And then he left. Again.

At least the rest of them were having fun.

 

For a long time, Wilford accepted his fate, and his past.

Now, he was thinking that perhaps, his dreams were right.

“Where did you get that, Trimmer?” he asked, eyebrows rising as he stared at the cane on the presenter’s hand. He twirled it once, and then grinned.

“I found this beauty in Dark’s room, yesterday, when he left” he said and clicked the cane on the ground, making a pose. “What do you think Wilford? Does it look good? Does it fit-”

_“Does it fit my suit?”_

_Wilford stared at the man in front of him. Then, his gaze turned to the second man._

_He was a third party. But he wasn’t in a dream. He couldn’t be. He was just talking to Bim!_

_“William! Stop staring!” the first man complained. Wilford tried to see some kind of… facial details but his face was foggy. Weird. The second man laughed, loudly, his voice deep and filling the room. Wilford couldn’t see his face either. It was covered by big round glasses and a hat._

_“It… fits you quite well, my dear friend. Or, should I now say, Mayor?” he said, and laughed again._

_The first man hit him with the end of the cane, lightly._

_“Stop it. Colonel”_

_Colonel._

“… ford? Wilford? Wilford?!”

He groaned, rubbing his head, looking around. Over him, stood Bim and the Jims, looking down worriedly. He frowned.

“Why are you three so tall?”

“You are the one laying on the ground, Pink Jim!” one of the Jims said, and Wilford groaned, looking down. Why was he on the ground?”

“You passed out. For some reason” Bim said, lifting his hand, and Wilford took it, standing up with his help. “After I showed you the cane”

“Yeah… You better give that back to Dark before he realizes it’s gone” Wil said, taking the cane and humming. “I… will give it to him. See you all later”

Turning around, he left, and both Jims and Bim stood still, staring as he walked away.

Instead of going to dark’s bedroom, Wilford walked inside his office, looking around. After searching, he found a hidden drawer under the desk, where Bim had probably taken out the cane.

He opened it, and inside was the veil.

The… veil?

Wilford took it in his hands, and the softness of the fabric made him shiver.

_“This. This will fit you nicely”_

_The woman turned around from where she was checking on some dresses, grinning widely at the man in front of her._

_The same man as before._

_The colonel._

_“Will…” she whispered and walked to him, taking the veil and slowly fixing it over her bun and head. “What do you think?”_

_“Mysterious. Like the queen of darkness” the colonel answered, and she laughed, slapping his arm gently before gripping onto it, and stepping closer._

_“Thank you…”_

“ ** _WILFORD_** ”

He winced at the scream, looking up to see Dark standing by the door, flickering and failing his form more usual than normal at how stressed he was.

And normally, for dark’s sake, Wilford would let it go and find an excuse. But not now.

“What is this?!” Wilford asked, just as pissed, showing Dark the veil and the cane. “Why are you hiding this from me? From everyone? I’ve never seen you use these and yet here they are, in a hidden drawer under your desk!”

“This has nothing to do with you!” dark screamed back, angrily. “This has to do with my past, and it is none of your concern!”

“Yes it does!” Wilford screamed back, walking towards Dark, past his desk, and from the corner of his eyes he could see the rest of the egos crowding up outside Dark’s room. “I feel like it does! I know these objects and I have memories with them besides never having seen them my entire life! Just, just tell me who I was! Tell me what happened before!”

“THERE IS NOTHING TO TELL!” Dark screamed, and the walls trembled. The ground shook. His body flickered. There was red and blue everywhere. The egos outside the room gasped and most huddled up together. But Wilford wasn’t afraid. He had stopped being afraid from Dark long, long time ago.

“There is plenty to tell!” he screamed back and threw both the veil and the cane on the ground, angrily, pointing his finger at Dark. “either you tell me what is going on or I will not aid you on your quest to kill Markiplier. And you _know_ that without me you cannot win! So spill it out Dark!”

Dark stared at him, fire in his black eyes, before slowly he breathed in and out, and calmed down, body not flickering, blue and red returning to his surroundings.

“If you do not wish to aid me, then you are free to leave. I won’t say anything else”

And with that, Dark turned around and left the room.

The rest of the egos made a path for him, and then stared at Wilford, their eyes wide.

He could feel the frustration settling in, and before it could become something else, he walked out of the room, pushing the egos in front of him and heading to his own office.

But before leaving, he grabbed the Host’s hand and pulled him along.

 

“You have to tell me!” he said, exasperated, but the Host simply shook his head.

“The Host isn’t allowed to say more than it is written” he explained, and Wilford growled, pulling his hair.

“But you know! And he knows! I need to understand why these memories are tied up to me! I need to know who were Celine and Damien and that Colonel, what they were to me! Why I know their cane and their veil! I need… I need to know…” he sighed and sat on the bed, rubbing his face, angrily. “Golly….”

“… The Host… wishes to help” the man in front of him said, and soon Wilford felt the bed bending to his left, where the Host sat. “The Host knows the answers to Wilford’s questions, but he isn’t allowed to say them. They were not written.”

“Because Dark didn’t want them to be written. He didn’t want me to find out. Why?” he groaned, looking over at the man next to him. “Why?”

“There is a book… that says that Darkiplier is a manipulative soul. The Host’s only guess is that… if WIlford knows the truth, Darkiplier might not be able to manipulate him further” he said, and Wilford frowned.

“Dark doesn’t… manipulate me. We work as a team” he said, slowly, and the Host moved his head away.

“Darkiplier hasn’t killed one single living being in all his existence. He has not gone to jail, or have been followed by cops. Darkiplier has never committed a single crime, and he has always found a way of remaining anonymous. Wilford, however, has been arrested, persecuted, killed and revived, and all for killing people when it was unnecessary and pointless. ‘It was an accident, I swear’. ‘Where did it all go so wrong?’. ‘He asked me to do it’. ‘A misunderstanding when you were trying to tickle them with a knife’. Those sound familiar? Those phrases are not coming from anywhere else but Wilford’s own mouth. It doesn’t really sound like what a serial killer would say, and yet, Wilford Warfstache is being hunted by the police for being a serial killer. It all sounds… unsettling, to the Host. However, it was all written, and the Host is up for interpretations. Perhaps, Wilford shouldn’t trust Darkiplier so much”

Wilford blinked, staring at the wall in front of him as all those memories flood back into his mind. All of it, all the memories, they seemed so absurd and yet he knew they were real.

“But… but they weren’t… supposed to die” he said, slowly, desperation settling in his fast beating heart. “I got shot… I didn’t die… why… why did they? Why did everyone die but the baby? Why did I kill Markiplier and… he was alive the day after? Why… why some people I kill come back and some don’t… and why every time I pull the trigger I think… I think it’s… it’s just temporary…?”

“It is the Author’s fault” the Host said, and Wilford turned to him, eyes wide, needy for answers, solutions of any kind. “The Author worked for Markipllier, for a time. When Darkiplier won his powers, his new form, he stole the Author and locked him inside a shack, ordering him about writing their future. He interrupted the current work the Author was working with, Who Killed Markiplier, and told him to write other stories. Of the future. A future where Darkiplier and Markiplier would eventually find and kill each other. But, at the time, Darkiplier was unstable, and for sentiment he used the only person he knew would be up for the job as his right hand man. Wilford” he explained, or tried to. The information was processing very slowly in Wilford’s mind. “he told the Author to create Wilford, but never gave him an origin story. The Author glued pieces of a character left behind and made Wilford up from it, without connecting their stories. Exactly what darkiplier wanted. A familiar face with a blank mind. Without connecting the dots, Wilford will never know who he was before. However, it is clear to the Host that the dots are being formed, because the story doesn’t have to be written to be real. But it takes time, and explanations, which the Host is unable to provide, and Dark is unwilling.”

“But… how? How is the story being made if… if you can’t tell me and Dark doesn’t… want to tell?” Wilford asked, voice shaking. He was not sure of what was going on. He felt more lost than ever. His mind gripped to every memory he had like a lifeline. A blank character? A familiar face? Was that all he was for Dark? A voodoo doll to use and abuse at his own will? With no past, made up present and unsure future?

He once thought they were friends.

“Darkiplier forgot that as long as someone knows the story, it will be made. The Author had the power to construct it as he pleased, and make changes and amends to benefit the one he worked for. First Markiplier, and then Darkiplier. The Host does not have such powers because they were taken away, so the Host cannot help Wilford or Darkiplier. But Darkiplier has the story in his mind, the way he planned it. He knows Wilford’s past and present. And… so do the Jims”

Wilford blinked, slowly, eyes widening.

“The… Jims?”

“The Jims were in a side book, that accompanied Who Killed Markiplier, that fortunately the Author was able to finish before Darkiplier took over. The Jims know all about Wilford’s past and present”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?! Gooly, we could have avoided all this conversation!” Wilford groaned and stood up, heading out of his room. “Thanks Host” he said before he ran off, desperate to find the Jims and end this once and for all.

He just wanted to figure out his place in that… _madness_.

 

“Oh yes, yes, the Jims know” one of the twins said, grinning widely. “The Jims know everything that happened in that haunted house!”

“Whatever, god damn it, just tell me!” he said loudly, and hit his fist against the table. The rest of the egos were around, they were all in the entertainment room, but dark and the host.

He could swear there were tears of frustration filling up his eyes.

All the egos stopped what they were doing, and the room became silent. The Jims jumped backwards before looking at each other and approaching the trembling Wilford.

“Perhaps… Pink Jim wants to sit down” the second twin said, and pulled a chair. Wilford sighed, and sat, looking at them.

“Please… tell me…”

The Jims looked at each other. Then at Wilford.

And then, told what they knew.

_By the time we, Jims, came out of the demon hunting section, everyone else was already dead._

_We found the detective’s body upstairs, and markings of blood downstairs. We also did not find the butler or the chef or the groundskeeper. We only found death._

_We hid away when we heard someone coming through. They were all grey, with red and blue surrounding them. We would later learn his name was Darkiplier._

_He was talking to someone, and I, the first Jim, leaned over to investigate as the second Jim stayed safely behind me._

_There was a man there. In front of Darkiplier. Curled up on the ground, and I was not sure if he was… laughing or crying._

_By his clothing, I couldn’t tell who he was. But when he turned to look at Darkiplier, his moustache was impossible not to recognize. It was the Colonel. William the Colonel. One of our main suspects of murder with the detective, who at the time was already dead._

_Darkiplier then talked to him, and we Jims couldn’t hear what he said.  But upon touching his shoulder, very gently, we saw something in the Colonel change. First, he stopped laughing or crying or whatever he was doing. Then… he stood up, and followed Darkiplier somewhere else inside the house._

_We, Jims, waited. We needed full closure on the case._

_When the two returned, half an hour later, Darkiplier was walking side by side with a pink moustached man._

_A man, that when they were leaving, he called ‘Wilford Warfstache’._

“After that, we Jims went to look for the colonel but never found him” the first twin said.

“We just assumed the colonel had either died or become Wilford Warfstache, whoever that was” the second twin completed.

“Wait…” Wilford mumbled, scratching his neck, staring down to the floor. “Wait so… I’m…”

“probably the colonel” “yes, one would assume” the twins said, smiling to each other. “Pink Jim! You are Colonel Jim!”

“I-I have to sit down” he said, shaking, reaching for a chair and pulling it towards himself. He sat, and all the egos approached him, worried.

“Are you alri-alri-alri-alright, Wilford?” Google asked, looking down at him. Wilford held his head between his hands, closing his eyes tight.

“I… I am… the…” he mumbled, tugging his hair out of frustration. Those assumptions had to be correct. He had to be… but he couldn’t remember. Everything… everything was a blank.  “I can’t…”

“The Jims found something else too” the second twin said, and out of thin air, they made a box appear. WIlford looked up, and from inside the box, they took out a broken picture, and handed it to Wilford.

A framed picture of three men and a woman. Markiplier… Damien… Celine… and the Colonel.

William.

Wilford.

_William._

_“Will!”_

_He looked up from his gun, putting it away in his pocket, losing his breath as he stared forward. Celine walked towards him, a wide, beautiful grin on her face, and reached out for him._

_“It is the time for the picture!”_

_He nodded._

_Thye walked to the main hall together. There was a grey wall, clean behind them, so they could take the picture. Damien and Mark were talking happily with each other, and both grinned when they saw Celine and William approaching._

_“Will! Celine…” Mark said, taking the woman’s hand and pulling her for a sweet kiss. She responded in kind, holding his face as he dipped her ever so slightly._

_William stared at the scene, feeling his stomach turn in hatred and jealousy._

_That turned his mood off immediately._

_“William?” came the Mayor’s voice. He looked up at his friend, and smiled, trying to ignore the words and giggles he could hear from the couple next to him. Damien was smiling to him. “Do you mind standing next to me? On the picture?”_

_“Of course not, my old friend” he said, smiling a bit more honestly now. Seeing Damien always made him a little… happier, in those terrible cloudy days. He approached the mayor and took his place, their arms pressing together as Mark and Celine made their way into the picture._

_“Mark, Celine, a bit more to the left. Try to stare at the camera instead of at each other. Okay?” the butler said, smiling sarcastically, and William felt the disgust rising up in his stomach again. He moved to the side, unwilling to be touching Mark, making his and Damien’s arms press further together._

_“Sorry” he whispered to his friend, and looked over at him. Then, he noticed how still Damien was, and the light blush on his cheeks. “Are you alright, Damien?”_

_“Perfectly fine. Just… a little too warm in here for my taste” he answered right away, nervously rubbing his cane and stranding straighter. William was about to ask if he was feeling sick or anything, before the butler cleaned his throat._

_“Everyone look at the camera and say cheese!”_

_And William looked._

_He was sure he had never taken a picture so seriously in his whole life._

_Later that night, when the guests of the party were too busy listening to Mark’s stupid stories, William retrieved to the gardens, sitting on a bench by the golf area and staring at the starry sky. He removed his hat and his coat, and put them on one of his sides, leaving the other empty._

_It didn’t take too long for her to show up._

_“William?”_

_He hummed, not looking at her._

_“I… came to make you company…”_

_He nodded._

_She sighed in defeat. In a second, she was sitting next to him, holding his hand._

_“Please, listen. I love you. But I can’t leave him. Not yet. I have already told you. We have a plan” Celine said, desperately, her voice just above a whisper. William groaned and looked at her._

_“No, Celine. You have a plan! My only wish is to be with you! I only want you! I don’t want his fame, his money, his power! And I have already told you that what we are doing is beyond any type of madness!” he said, angrily, but as soon as her hand touched his face, he melted, relaxed. She had… so much control over him._

_“William…”_

_“I don’t want to hurt my friend…” he whispered, and leaned on her touch, closing his eyes. “I know he hurt me. I know he isn’t… the best guy to be around. But he is my friend… my brother… and I… I don’t wish to hurt him any more than necessary… I already have you… I don’t need anything else, Celine…”_

_“I know… forgive me” she whispered and leaned closer. “Just… give me some more time. To gather up courage. And then we can tell everything and leave our lives”_

_“Please” he breathed out, and she nodded. As he opened his eyes, she closed the distance between them, kissing him slowly and ever so full of love._

_He held her waist, pulled her closer, and kissed her back, like never before._

_“She is using you”_

_William stopped in his tracks, eyebrows furrowing together, anger growing in his heart._

_“What?”_

_“She is using you, William.”_

_He turned around, eyes narrowed, facing the man behind him. Damien._

_“How dare you speak of your own sister that way?!” he asked, the drinks and the sadness in his heart making him more aggressive than he should be. The party inside was still going, Celine had gone inside to talk to Mark about something, and William was once again feeling betrayed. He didn’t need Damien’s words now._

_“She is my sister. I know her the best. She is using you” he said, firmly, stepping closer to William, holding his cane tight. “Don’t you see? If she only wanted you for you, she would have let go of Mark already, and be in your arms! She is using you so she doesn’t have any blame on this, and you are falling in her trap!”_

_“Stop talking about Celine like that!” he growled and stepped forward, letting his coat and hat fall as he grabbed Damien by the collar, pressing him against the closest pillar. “Don’t **ever** talk about Celine like that!”_

_“you are mad! Mad, William! Love has made you blind and completely insane!” Damien called back, hand letting go from his cane to hold William’s wrists._

_“Better being insane and in love than betraying and bad mouthing your own sister! To her lover!” he growled and pressed harder, their noses inches apart as he breathed hard, angry, drunk._

_Damien’s resolved and pissed off expression melted into one of concern and sadness. He stared at William’s eyes, and his hands fell to William’s chest, holding his suspenders._

_“I’m trying to protect you… her… Mark…” he whispered, brokenly, his eyes tearing up. “Can’t you see it? You three… are killing each other. I can’t… I can’t just stand here and watch. Not when…”_

_He stopped, and looked away. William’s grip tightened and he growled, hitting Damien against the pillar and making him face him._

_“When **what**?!” he groaned out._

_Damien swallowed thickly, and looked down._

_“When… when I’m in love… with you…”_

_William stood still._

_His anger disappeared._

_His hold lightened._

_His eyes widened._

_“You… what?”_

_Damien bit his lip and looked up, eyebrows furrowed, eyes filled with tears that were threatening to fall._

_“When I am in love with you. When she is my sister. And when Mark is my best friend” he said, and shook his head. “I can’t see the three people I love more in the entire world killing each other… for nothing…”_

_Out of everything Damien had ever said or done, this… this was the most difficult moment William had ever faced._

_“Damien…” he whispered, because now that his rage was gone, he had nothing left to say. He released Damien’s shirt and stepped back, brushing his fingers through his hair, looking around, turning away. He didn’t know how to answer. How to act._

_He didn’t know what that ache in his chest meant._

_“William” Damien said and held his shoulder, making him turn around. He was blushing and his eyes were still teary, and he wasn’t looking anywhere close to William. “You don’t have to say anything. To apologize or say you don’t feel the same because I… I know you don’t. But… just be careful… around Celine, okay? That’s… that’s all”_

_And like that, Damien let go from his shoulder and turned around, heading back to the party._

_But something… something unknown to William jumped inside of him._

_“Wait” he said, and reached for his wrist. Damien turned around, ready to protest, to ask him to let go, but before he could, William pressed him against the pillar again, making the mayor gasp and look at him, scared._

_Scared? Damien should never be scared to be around him. And yet, he was._

_But William gave that no thought._

_He leaned down and kissed him, firm and right, holding his waist with one hand and hi wrist with the other._

_It took a second for Damien to respond, but when he did, his body relaxed against William’s and his hands went flying to his hair, pulling him close desperately._

_If anything, William could just blame it on the booze._

**_ “The main character reaches for the cane, and upon touching it, a new soul rises. They look up, together, and suddenly, the main character is trapped. _ **

**_ They know they are trapped. _ **

**_ And in front of them, stands the creature. _ **

**_ Dark.  _ **

**_ Dark, who maintains Celine and Damien trapped within their broken body. _ **

**_ It growls. It wants revenge.” _ **

 

Wilford came back with a loud breath, leaning backwards and falling with the chair to the ground. The rest of the egos gasped and ran around him as he groaned, in pain, slowly shaking his head and standing up.

“Pink Jim?” the first twin asked, softly, but Wilford just stood straight and stared at the door.

“Dark”

 

He ran through the hallways, the rest of the egos following him, confused and worried but most of all, curious. Wilford reached Dark’s room and instead of knocking or opening the door, he kicked it open and entered in a rage attack.

And there he was, sitting on the bed, shirtless.

Wilford stopped.

Right there. On Dark’s chest. Next to several scars, laid the bullet hole.

“You. You are them” he said, slowly, and Dark’s eyebrows furrowed. “You are… Damien. And Celine…”

“You are going crazy, Wilford” Dark tried, but Wilford growled, walking to him and grabbing his shoulders.

“YOU ARE THEM! MY DAMIEN! MY CELINE! THE ONES I THOUGHT THAT HAD FUCKING DIED THAT NIGHT! THAT I WENT CRAZY FOR! YOU WERE THEM ALL THIS LONG AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME! YOU NEVER TOLD ME WHO I WAS! WHAT HAPPENED! WHAT WE HAD!” he screamed, shaking Dark, his vision now blurry with the amount of tears his eyes held. His nails dug in Dark’s skin, and he continued, no stop. “you never told me about Mark… about how we were all friends… you didn’t tell me what happened that night… how or why I became what I became. All this time… all this time you were manipulating me to do your dirty crimes… to find you opportunities to use me… because you knew that even if I didn’t remember it, I would help the people I once _loved_ …”

“They are dead now, Wilford” Dark said, and he frowned, painfully, his eyes still tearing up, tears tracking down his cheeks. “I am not what you think I am”

“You are… you are _them_ ” he whispered, but Dark growled and pushed Wilford away, standing up.

“ ** _I am not your friends. I am not Damien or Celine. I am Darkiplier, an entity. I never told you what happened because your friends are gone, and gone forever. I feed on their love and strength and they decay as I become stronger. Celine and Damien are no more, and never will be, because I am more and stronger than they ever were. And with their harvest power, I can finally kill the man that used me for his own personal gain, and left me this broken body and this broken man that stands in front of me_** ” Dark said, his voice broken, deep and layered, as his form grew and grew to the point that he could lean over and cover Wilford completely, a black, red and blue aura surrounding him, creating cords that connected him to all of the other egos that stood around them. Wilford looked at them, eyes wide, as he saw all of them standing still, their eyes completely black, possessed. “ ** _They are all mine, Wilford. Everything that exists in this realm is mine. I control it. And if you don’t wish to join me, then I will be obliged to kill you, and remain as the omnipotent leader of this world. It is your choice, and yours alone, Wilford. Die… or join me_** ”

The air around them was cold. It moved, freely, making it seem like there was a hurricane inside that same room. All the walls, and their surroundings, were black. The egos, all connected to Dark by those black strings, that somehow glistened in the black room.

Wilford closed his eyes, shaking, sobbing quietly, out of fear, frustration, and betrayal.

He had never wanted to do any of this. He just wanted to know who he was.

“I…” he started, rubbing his eyes and looking up at Dark. The man raised an eyebrow. “I… I will do whatever you want… I will be your servant. Just... let me... let me say goodbye to them... one more time... please…”

Dark stared at him, and then nodded.

“ ** _Very well_** ”

And a black cord came right to Wilford’s direction, knocking him unconscious.

 

_“… am?”_

_“… liam?”_

_“… William?”_

“William?”

He groaned, feeling his head aching as he opened his eyes.

Truly, he was nowhere.

“William!”

He frowned at the familiar voice, and turned around, before his eyes widened and he stood up, desperate.

“Celine! Damien!”

He ran towards them, only to hit something invisible and fall back, groaning.

Celine gasped and Damien stood forward, but both stood before the invisible wall.

“What… in hell…” Wilford groaned, standing up and rubbing his nose as he stared at them. “What…”

“It won’t let you through. Dark” Celine said, and gently placed her hand over the invisible wall, smiling sadly. Wilford could feel his frustration welling up again.

“Why… why are you here?” Damien asked, softly, squeezing his cane in his hands. “I thought…”

“I asked him… I asked him to see you again” Wilford whispered, and stepped forward, touching both hands against the invisible wall. Celine and Damien looked at each other, and then at Wil again. “He… granted it. And now I have to work for him”

“I… well…” Celine started, and then bit her lip. “I mean, you already were so…”

“No. You shouldn’t have said yes. You should’ve left!” Damien said, growling and hitting his cane on the ground. “Now… now it will have control over you too…”

“Damien…” she tried, but he looked at her angrily.

“No Celine! This isn’t the best for anyone! I would rather spend decades, centuries locked inside this… this _thing_ before allowing it to get a hold on our friend and _kill_ the other!” Damien said, frustrated, and threw his cane away, turning around and walking away from them.

“Damien…” Celine said, reaching for his shoulder, while Wilford watched, eyes wide. Before she could touch him, Damien kneeled on the ground, tugging onto his hair.

“This isn’t fair… it isn’t fair… I am… I am so tired…” he said, weakly, and Celine moved her hand away, biting her lip. “I am so tired… of being used by it… of… of hurting people… I am so tired of having to watch as Dark tears everything apart, as it plans to destroy Mark and use Will, I _can’t_ …. anymore…”

“Damien…” Celine whispered, but she was cut short.

“I’m sorry, Damien” Wilford whispered, both hands curling into fists against the invisible wall. Celine looked at him, and Damien’s tensed shoulders seemed to relax slightly. “I am sorry I didn’t listen. Sorry I didn’t trust you. And…” he swallowed thickly. “And I’m sorry… for not deeming you good enough”

Celine frowned, and looked at him, confused. Damien’s hands left his hair and fell on his sides.

“I was in love with you… I just didn’t know” he whispered, and Damien curled his hands into fists as well as Celine stared, eye wide, at them both. “I… I should have heard you… and trusted you… and chosen you. But I loved her too... and I was blind. I was”

“I just don’t want you and Mark to be hurt…” Damien whispered, and his voice broke with the sob that came, his shoulders tensing as he sobbed more, but quietly, tears dropping onto the floor, blue and bright. “I don’t want… to lose anyone… not again…”

“And you won’t. I will do everything I can” Wilford promised, pressing his palm against the invisible wall. He was so focused on Damien that he did not notice that his palm was making a pink marking on the wall. “I promise you… I promise…”

Damien waited for a few seconds in silence, before he turned around, and stood up again. He walked towards the wall, eyes filled with tears, and raised his hand, eyes serious, narrowed.

“Promise me… that you will kill us if you have to” he said, and Celine gasped next to him. Wilford just stared.

“I…”

“Promise me Will” he repeated. “promise me that you will kill Darkiplier if you have to. Promise me that you won’t die because of us. Promise me you will prefer your and Mark’s lives over ours. Promise me”

“Will, no” Celine said, shakily, but he wasn’t listening.

He realized now that there was only one person that always truly cared for him.

“I promise”

“Damien NO!” Celine screamed, moving towards them, but before she could reach, Damien pressed his hand against the wall over Wilford’s, and a bright explosion of light came from the touching of their palms.

When Wilford opened his eyes again, he was on the floor of Darkiplier’s room.

He groaned, opening his eyes and slowly looking around, seeing all the other egos on the floor, passed out, most of them still flickering. The room was back to normal, and dark was passed out on his bed, with only a blue aura surrounding his body.

Wilford stood up, slowly, and looked around at the mess, before he turned to the door of the room as it opened.

There, stood the Host.

“Did Wilford discover what he wished to find out?” he asked, and Wilford nodded, firmly.

“Are you going to help me? To do Destiny’s desire? Are you on my side?”

The Host stared at him, and a smile slowly grew on his face.

“The Host… would gladly help”

And Wilford smirked.

It was time for the nightmare… **_to end_**.

**Author's Note:**

> Holy molly this is a huge fanfic. Well first, thank you for... reading all of this lmao. This is a union of several, and I mean several headcanons from anons in a tumblr page called @darkwarf. They are really nice, I suggest checking their blog out!
> 
> In any case, thank you for reading, comments and kudos are always appreciated, and see ya later!


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